The Chronicles of Maecelofin: Part I
by Amaurea2007
Summary: [Complete]Part one of what will most likely be a trilogy. AU fic. In his journeys to reclaim the Silmarils and oppose Morgoth, Maedhros meets a strange group of Elves, and among them is a maiden who will instigate an unlikely turn of events. Silmarillion
1. The Sons of Feanor

Nicole Hobday

10 July 2004

**The Chronicles of Maecelofin Part I:**

Of Maedhros and Tinuthiel

**Chapter 1:: The Sons of Feanor**

Word had reached the Noldor of a Silmaril. A rumor from the Southeast, whispered in the shadows of the world. Some claimed that one of Feanor's Jewels had nestled itself in the hands of the Sindar Elves who lived in a small abode along the river Thalos. The existence of this group was until now unknown to the Noldor, as they cherished their privacy. Yet they fought the forces of Melkor fiercely when needed, and it seemed quite possible that the rumors may be true. Perhaps a Silmaril had somehow found its way to them.

It did not take long for Feanor's sons to receive word of this, for their ears and minds were always alert for any news of the craft of their father. And Maedhros called his brothers to him and they set forth to ride with their followers to Thalos. Their journey was long but they possessed the vitality of their kind, and used it to its fullest. It was late spring when they came to the river Ascar, and it was there that they set up camp, south of the cool waters of the river. They were a majestic host to behold, and each of the Seven Sons of Feanor were present. The twins, Amrod and Amras shared a tent, being the youngest and very close in friendship. Curufin was also there, and Celegorm with Huan the wolfhound. Dark Caranthir was there with his followers, and level-headed Maglor. Maedhros set up his encampment closest to the river, in the midst of his brothers.

Thrandolfin, the leader of the hidden Sindar Elves looked across his river and saw the host of Maedhros. He knew the tales of their dark father and their fell deeds, and he called his people to safety, not knowing why they had come. But Maedhros sent forth a messenger to the old king, and requested an audience. Thrandolfin's son Thrandolhir, insisted to his father that they meet with Maedhros and discover what it was that they sought from them. But the king silenced him.

"I will not let Kinslayers into our peaceful lands," he said. "Least of all the Sons of Feanor." The messenger insisted once more, warning that his lords would come and seek what they may by force if they do not receive cooperation. Yet still King Thrandolfin rejected them, and the messenger was sent back to Maedhros with the tidings. Thus it was that the fates aligned for Maecelofin to come into the world of Arda, for with the battle that followed the paths of strangers fell upon each other, and many strange meetings would hail from it.

The Oath burned like a hot coal within the spirits of Feanor's sons, and though he loathed each time he killed Kin in order to try to fulfill that oath, Maedhros rallied his brothers and made them ready for battle. If King Thrandolfin would not tell them if they had a Silmaril then they would search for it themselves. Maglor rode at Maedhros's side, and their brothers followed behind. And for the most part they took only their closest followers with them, and Maedhros brought no servants to aid him in battle. The watchers from the little village on the slopes near Thalos sounded their trumpets, and King Thrandolfin looked forth and saw the Seven Sons riding swiftly towards the quiet town as the sun began to hang lower in the sky.

Maedhros's dark steed flew like a winter breeze. It bore him into the village with urgent haste. His sword sang as it was drawn, and his brothers followed. The city was sacked, and many were killed in the battle, including King Thrandolfin himself. But the Sons of Feanor found not what they sought, and when their swords were stained with the blood of their Kin once more they took leave of the damaged city. One by one they decided it time to go back to Ascar, and Maedhros was the last to leave. Bitter he was over the battle, and he had held his brothers back so that the city was still well off when they departed. Twenty and three Sindar Elves they slew on that night, and they had been met valiantly. The Sons of Feanor took their leave with minor wounds.

Maedhros arrived at their camp at Thalos after his brothers and a servant took his horse and saw to its needs. It was dark out, and Maedhros was weary of talking and weary of killing. The crimson-haired Elf went straight to Maglor's tent, meeting with Amrod and Amras as he went. He knew they would all have gathered there. Maedhros and his youngest brothers entered the tent, and he looked around and was relieved to see that, even if they had once again been misled, his brothers were safe and for the most part hale. He gave a sigh, and his brothers looked up as he entered.

"And Maedhros still has been undefeated!" laughed Curufin. "The Tall lives on. Perhaps Mandos enjoys watching his efforts." He and the others were sitting at a table and he poured himself a glass of wine, ignoring a gash in his arm.

The lights of the candles danced about the tent, casting them all in a golden wash. It softened the scarred face of Maedhros, and he seemed now closer to an echo of his former fair self in the light. The terrors of Thangorodrim had never left him, and despite the loss of his hand and the physical scars left emblazoned on his skin he was still very fair to look upon. Yet there was always something in his eyes that his brothers-or any Elf who had heard the tale of his capture and torment-could see. It was a distant look, like thoughts were passing behind his eyes but he never spoke them. He scanned over his brothers, standing by the entrance as Celegorm and Amras began to clean away the blood and grime from the battle off of themselves.

"I believe Mandos merely has a sense of humor, brother," said Maedhros, replying to Curufin. Maglor smiled at the dry joke and Curufin shook his head, taking a sip of wine. "Then not a trace was found?" Maedhros pried on.

Maglor shook his head. "We found no evidence that a Silmaril had ever been in this region. I know not where the rumors came from, but I am sure that they are false." Maedhros sighed, stepping over to them.

"Was anything gained in this?" He wondered out loud, resting his hand on the table. It was stained with Sindar blood. Caranthir looked up with a grin, his face alarmingly reminiscent of Feanor's.

He said, "Actually we caught a lovely creature fleeing from the fray." He took the wine bottle form Curufin, and Amrod raised his eyebrows, arms folded on the table. Maedhros looked over at Caranthir.

"My servants caught her," continued the dark-haired brother. "We left her in your tent for you."

Maedhros straightened and looked at his brother, pulling back slightly. "You did what? Who is she?" Caranthir shrugged, brushing back a long strand of dark hair form his face.

"She is of the Sindar people of Thrandolfin of course. I did not get her name."

Maedhros gave an exasperated sigh. His eyes narrowed at his brother and his voice became stern. "What would I want with her? Why did you not leave her be?" Curufin gave a laugh.

"What would any unwed Noldor prince want with a fair maiden?" he jested, looking at Caranthir for an approving laugh, which he received. Maedhros rolled his eyes, turning his gaze angrily. There were times when his brothers, especially Caranthir, reminded him far too much of their fiery father. Maglor had known what Maedhros's reaction would be and he shook his head helplessly, brow raised. Maedhros turned to leave.

"I shall return her. Do not wait up for me," he said. With that he turned his back on the company and drawing back the cloth draped over the doorway of the tent he stepped out into the night and left.

They watched him go and Curufin sighed. Amras was fixing a braid in his hair and he looked up at Maglor. "Did you think that he would have taken the maiden?" he asked. Maglor turned his gaze to him and sighed, shaking his head.

"I can no longer predict anything about Maedhros, little brother," he said quietly.

Had Maedhros not been so tense over the battle and the fact that once again they had failed to reclaim the Silmarils, he would have been furious. What were they thinking, taking a maiden captive and leaving her for him? Had Caranthir truly thought a captive would amuse him? Trust him to terrorize a poor soul. Their actions on this day were dark enough without defiling the women of the quaint and (as they now knew) innocent settlement.

He reflected as he walked back to his tent. The encampment was quiet, and the river before him was calm. The river village of Thalos had been lovely ere the Sons of Feanor ravaged it, and it still held its beauty, though now it bore a sadness to it. A quiet place, where all the Elves were closely bonded from family to family by keen friendship. It was not like the grand city of Tirion upon the hill in Valinor, where one could live within its walls for months and still not know every Elven soul to walk its streets. In this river town everyone knew each other closely, and looked after one another. Their dwellings had been carefully and aesthetically crafted with fine woodwork, and the small but majestic hall of the late King gleamed with marble and more crafty artwork was blended into its architecture. It was currently a disaster, however, no doubt still being reorganized and cleaned after Maedhros and Curufin had rode in on their horses, storming the doors and creating chaos. It had been Amras and Caranthir who slew the old King Thrandolfin as he bellowed angrily for the Sons of Feanor to be gone.

Maedhros pushed the image of the quiet town out of his mind. He neared the entrance to his tent and paused to stroke the now-cleaned flank of his steed, Turanthir. He was a large, dark horse with thick fur that was such a deep brown it appeared black. He had white socks and a brown tail, and a large splash of white along the front of his face. The horse stood quietly, resting, and he gave a soft whinny as his master approached and patted him. Maedhros stroked the horse a few times before walking into his tent, ordering the two guards that stood by to leave and take rest.

She sat near his low bed, hands bound behind her. A few scrapes and bruises displaced her otherwise beautiful form. She had fair skin and long golden hair that fell in soft waves down her back. It was carefully braided in a few places. She wore a simple yet elegant gown with long, separate sleeves. The fae raised fearful blue eyes as Maedhros entered and he paused, looking at her. She was a strikingly fair creature indeed. He gave Caranthir one thing: He knew beauty when he saw it. The darkness of his tent was unable to diminish the fair sight of her. But her eyes were now as ice as she gazed upon Maedhros, and they were immediately drawn to his right arm. Maedhros felt her eyes pierce the dark glum of the tent, which had no candles lit within it, and trail to where his hand should have been and he tensed bitterly.

But he got that look a lot, and he was accustomed to it. The loss of his hand had always stood out painfully against the appearance of his otherwise quite beautiful form. He knew this and was used to it. But that stare that he received regularly was a constant reminder of his misery upon Thangorodrim and his despair of its aftermath. Yet he ignored it and approached her with an irritated sigh. She jumped at his approach, eyes narrowed fearfully.

"Stay away," she said. But Maedhros ignored her, pulling out the long, slender blade that hung at his boot. The Sindar maiden gasped and pulled back, terrified. Maedhros frowned and looked at her.

"Peace, I am not going to harm you," he said coldly. He reached behind her and cut the ropes from her wrists before sheathing the blade. It was miraculous how crafty he had become in his actions using one hand. She seemed a little surprised, but did not argue and she rubbed her wrists gingerly, watching him stand again. Maedhros walked over to the shallow, silver water basin that stood at waist-height on a stand of bronze.

The two Elves were silent for a moment as the Sindar sat nursing her wrists and studying her captor carefully. Maedhros proceeded to slip off his shirt and battle garb, releasing them to hang at his back and sides, held on by his belts. The Sindar Elf kept her tearful eyes narrowed and glanced away from his muscular form. Maedhros cupped the cool water of the basin in his hand and brought it to the back of his neck and shoulders, rolling his head back and wondering what to do with his "guest". He continued to rinse himself of the blood and sweat of battle, and he thoughtfully massaged a sore muscle between his shoulder and neck. With a wearied sigh he looked at the Sindar Elf once more.

"What is your name?" he asked. The Elfess looked up with a tearstained face, and she looked skeptical of the seemingly pleasant question. Yet she remained silent and Maedhros gave a growl. He hadn't the time or the mind for this. He was going to let Caranthir have it before this was over...perhaps he could convince Huan to teach him a small lesson.

"You must have a name...," he said exasperatedly, straightening once more and tilting his head slightly. The maiden looked him over, considering him.

She replied quietly, "I am Tinuthiel." Then she gained some courage. "And you are Maedhros, Feanor's son."

Maedhros nodded. "Aye. That I am."

Tears fell from Tinuthiel's eyes. "Why did you attack our home?" she demanded fiercely, voice breaking. Maedhros closed his eyes and shook his head.

"Why else do Feanor's sons attack Elfkind?" he retaliated. "We heard rumors that a Silmaril had come to your village."

Tinuthiel shook her head, her golden hair shimmering in the little light there was in the tent. "A Silmaril? My people have ever laid eyes upon one." She looked up at him again, blue eyes tearful still. "That is what this is about? Some jewels? You slew my King and terrorized my people for a jewel?"

Maedhros turned away from her, untying the small knot he kept some of his hair in. It fell in a copper shower as he reached for the robes he wore when not in battle. "Take that up with my brothers if you so desire. It was they who killed the old king, not me," he said shortly.

"You lead them!" cried Tinuthiel. Maedhros paused in the tying of his robes and he walked over to her, kneeling next to her. She pulled back slightly but held his gaze. His steely eyes met hers and he considered an answer. The stress was breaking on him, and this was the last thing he wanted to do: Justify what he knew he could not. He nodded slowly.

"Aye," he said. "I lead them. They are my brothers and they follow my words." Tinuthiel narrowed her eyes again, wiping away a small amount of blood from a cut on her lip. Maedhros stood up again. "I never wanted this," he said bitterly. Tinuthiel's face softened at these words, and she looked down as Maedhros went back to the basin. He took a cloth and dipped it in the water and lightly tossed it to her. Tinuthiel hesitated, but then took the offered cloth and gently dabbed away the blood from her lip.

She looked up and watched as Maedhros worked mechanically to tie up his robes one-handed. It was remarkable how he had adapted, using shoulder and elbow to assist and hold fabric. His fingers worked gracefully to tie what needed to be tied and arrange what needed to be arranged until he had his full set of robes on. Then he worked on pulling the top layer of his long red hair back into its knot. Tinuthiel watched him silently. She had never seen such a victim of war-a victim of Morgoth. She heard the tales of heroic deeds and dark horrors, yet she had never seen someone who had been through it. And she couldn't imagine how he lived-how he could function-after loosing his hand.

"Come," said Maedhros at last. He stepped outside and Tinuthiel hesitated. But she forced herself to rise and followed him slowly. He was standing by Turanthir.

Tinuthiel brushed back a strand of hair, confused. "What are you going to do with me?" she asked. She recalled the tales of the terrible wrath of Feanor and heard that it had been passed to each of his sons.

Maedhros turned to look at her, grasping a handful of the horse's mane. "Get on," he said, giving a nod of his head to the Turanthir's back. Tinuthiel hesitated again.

"What are you doing?" she demanded. Her slender form was faintly illuminated by the pale moonlight. That pale light likewise masked the scars that raked across Maedhros's face, and they seemed to disappear.

"You wish to return home, do you not?" he said. Tinuthiel blinked in surprise.

"You...are bringing me home? Simply letting me go?"

"Yes, in what other way would you like me to say it, milady?" Maedhros replied. The day had irritated him and his temper was wearing thin. But he quieted after he spoke these words, knowing none of this was her fault.

The maiden slowly walked over to the horse, tensing as she drew near her captor and lacing her hands on the strong back of Turanthir. Maedhros lowered his hand and assisted her onto the horse before lifting himself up in front of her. He spoke softly to Turanthir and the steed obeyed the gentle Elvish words and set off at a trot. Maedhros directed Turanthir south, riding for the bridge over Thalos. Tinuthiel had great elegance and balance, but when Maedhros set his horse at a canter and then a gallop she had to hold onto him to stay on, not used to riding with another Elf on the same horse.

Turanthir's breath rose into the chilly spring air in plumes. The thundering of his hooves ceased when they approached the bridge. The village lay on the other side of the river, but Maedhros did not venture closer. He halted Turanthir and dismounted and Tinuthiel followed. The two Elves stood, and Maedhros stroked Turanthir's neck.

"My brother Caranthir," he said after a moment. "Sometimes he thinks with our father's will and not his heart. You have my apologies. You may go." Tinuthiel studied him for a moment, carefully. He went about checking over Turanthir for any battle wounds he may have overlooked. If so he would walk back to camp.

"You are not like your brothers, Maedhros," said Tinuthiel gently. Maedhros shot a look at her.

"And what do you know of my brothers?" he asked icily.

"I know them well enough to know that they would sell me as a prize," retorted Tinuthiel, and Maedhros growled and proceeded to smooth out Turanthir's mane, which had blown into a mess during their ride. "You are not like them."

"It is astonishing how untrue that statement is," said Maedhros dryly, finishing with Turanthir's mane. Tinuthiel shook her head, still gazing at him.

"I believe it is true," she said. Maedhros met her eyes once more. "Thank you for returning me, Maedhros, son of Feanor. Farewell." She spoke these last words formally and then with a bow turned and began to walk quietly across the bridge. Maedhros did not answer, but he watched her lovely form approach the village before mounting Turanthir and riding back to camp.


	2. Atonement

Chapter 2 Atonement 

Maedhros awoke to the shrill blast of distant trumpets and Maglor shaking him. "Brother, wake! A host of Morgoth advances upon the Thalos village!" he said urgently. Maedhros's attention was brought fully to his brother's words and he as wide-awake. He stood up and grabbed his robes.

"What beasts?" he asked, slipping off his night-ware and readying his battle garb.

"Just Orcs, thank the Valar," answered Maglor. He watched his brother work for a moment before brushing his hand aside. "There is no time, brother." Maedhros sighed in frustration but yielded and allowed Maglor to help him get dressed and ready. He was correct: there was no time for Maedhros to struggle with one hand, so he swallowed his pride for the time being. Grabbing his sword, Maedhros and Maglor walked out of his tent.

"Get our brothers and make sure they can fight," he said. Maglor nodded, turning to carry out his elder brother's orders. But Maedhros grabbed his arm and he looked back. "No servants. Only the Seven of us." He said. Maglor narrowed his eyes, puzzled. But he had a feeling he knew what was playing through Maedhros's head. "We hold the river."

Maglor nodded again and left. Within moments the Sons of Feanor were together and ready to ride. Curufin challenged Maedhros's orders as he mounted his horse. "Brother, we have strong followers. They will aid us!" he said. But Maedhros shook his red head.

"Yesterday we, the seven Sons of Feanor, rampaged through a town innocent of the crime we accused it of," he said. "Now we pay them back for the damage we have caused our fellow Eldar. And aside from that the river must hold, or Morgoth will have access to this entire region."

Not another word was spoken to defy Maedhros, and the Sons of Feanor rode as swiftly as they could to the Thalos River. Huan, the hound of Valinor, tread lithely on the heels of his master's steed. The seven riders passed over the bridge and without warning flew into the town. Screams were heard as the already-panicked people saw their return, fearing their slaughter had not ended. But they spoke not nor halted, and their horses bore them through the town and past it to the south. And on the village boarders they halted, seeing the dark host approach from the distance, coming up from the South. The soldiers of Thalos drew back in shock as Feanor's sons silently rode up through their ranks and stood ahead of them, silent sentinels upon their mighty horses. They stood as a wall, protecting the already ravaged city. Caranthir and Celegorm shot unnerved glances at Maedhros, doubting his course of action. But as always Maglor stood firmly at his side, trusting him.

And eerie silence fell, broken only by the distant trembling of the earth under the feet of the approaching Orcs. The sky was bleak and grey, and the green grasses rippled in the breeze.

Thrandolhir rode up parallel to Maedhros, but at a safe distance. The new King stared in disbelief at Maedhros, silently questioning his presence. But Turanthir's hoof stamped the soft earth, and Maedhros met the King's gaze without wavering. Thrandolhir gave a respectful dip of his head, knowing he would need aid to defeat the approaching foe and understanding why Maedhros had come. Then the two leaders turned their gaze back to the enemy, which was slowly making its way to them. The women of the city collected in safe spots, and they all waited in silence as the dark foes advanced.

Perhaps in another tale the story of the battle at Thalos River is told, but for the telling of Maecelofin's story, the details are unimportant. But it shall be said that the Sons of Feanor fought with the Sindar Elves and drove back the Orc host that had issued forth from Angband long ago and made its way far South. Maedhros's skills and prowess in the battle were terrible indeed, for in the swing of his sword was all the bitterness and memory of his torment at Thangorodrim, and the hatred for the creatures that had mocked him in his misery. Huan also was fierce in his fighting, and he tore at the Orcs and they trembled at the howl of the wolf of Valinor. The brothers were mighty in their acts and the host was shattered ere it reached its destination, and its remnant fled into the mountains.

And so while the Sindar would not so swiftly forgive the brothers for their fell deeds and the pain they had inflicted upon them, they were at least repaid for what they had lost, and Maedhros and Thrandolhir had a silent understanding of one another.

"Are you leaving?"

Maedhros turned at the familiar voice to see Tinuthiel. He had ventured to the shores of the River Gelion, between the branching rivers of Ascar and Thalos. Maedhros was surprised to see her, and even more surprised that she had come over to speak with him.

"Yes," he answered her, looking back over the river. It gleamed like a silk ribbon as it lay under the spring sunlight. Tinuthiel came to stand next to him. Her scrapes and cuts were healed, and she was a vision. Her golden hair caught the sunlight magnificently, and her gentle blue eyes looked as though they had been crafted from the oceans.

It was a week and two days since the raid of the city by Thalos. Maedhros had not spoken to or seen Tinuthiel since, and he had dismissed her in his mind as just a beautiful figure that had walked into and out of his life-an acquaintance . Yet here she was again, speaking with him.

"When?" she asked, her voice much sweeter than the grieved, angry tone she had used when they first met. It was more like when she spoke to him when he returned her to her home.

He answered, "In the morning. At the sun's rising." Tinuthiel nodded and sat down, her knees drawn to her chest. She looked up and watched Maedhros for a moment. He was silent, and then she gave a soft smile.

"Well, sit, son of Feanor," she said. "Or was your father above sitting upon the grass?" Maedhros could tell by the tone of her voice that she meant the words lightly and not as an insult. He considered her offer for a moment, and then slowly sat beside her.

Tinuthiel reached down and picked a flower from the emerald sea of grass. It was a soft white flower, tiny and delicate. "You helped my people. We would be dead or captive by now had you and your brothers not arrived..." She turned her clear gaze to Maedhros, who watched and listened to her quietly. "Why?"

Maedhros turned his attention back to the river, considering his answer. He reached to pull his long hair away from his back and over his shoulder. "Had Morgoth taken the rivers it would have been trouble for all of Beleriand," he said. Then he admitted, "and it was my way of atoning for what we did..." He cast his dark eyes out to the river, watching its waters flow over the large, smooth rocks and run against its shoreline. "It cannot bring your king back, nor the others that we slew. But it is the only way I know how."

Tinuthiel examined the flower in her hand, holding it gingerly in her delicate fingers. She listened to his answer and nodded. "I thought you a ruthless killer. Your ferocity in battle suggests so. Yet when I speak to you, you do not seem as dark as some say."

"Perhaps you are naïve."

"Perhaps I am not."

Maedhros once more turned his gaze to her. "What did you come her for?"

"To speak," she said lightly. "Why, do you not speak with others?"

Maedhros replied, "I speak with my brothers and anyone else that I must converse with."

Tinuthiel continued to examine the flower, studying its powder-soft petals. "It must be lonely...living the way you and your brothers do."

"I do not think of companionship. I do not need it."

Tinuthiel ventured further, brushing back a few strands of hair. "You said to me that night that you did not want for this to happen. Why do you and your brothers keep to this...this Oath if you hate doing it? Why do you risk your life to find these Silmarils?"

Maedhros sighed, lacing his fingers through the grass at his side. "You do not understand," he said. Tinuthiel did not press the matter of the Oath. She knew the stories. "Your people are safe now?"

Tinuthiel nodded. "We will recover. What will you do after you leave?" she asked. Maedhros was silent for a while.

He shook his head. "I do not know. I will keep fighting, I suppose."

Tinuthiel closed her eyes and nodded again. "I thought you would say that." She stood up, smiling down at Maedhros softly. Her dainty hand reached out and took his own, and she gently placed the white flower in the palm of his hand. "The darkness cannot last forever. Farewell, Maedhros. Perhaps we shall meet again someday." And then the golden-haired Tinuthiel turned and left Maedhros by the waters of Gelion. He sat in silence and watched her leave, and then looked down at the flower in his hand.

"I hope...I hope we do, Tinuthiel," he said softly. He closed his hand carefully over the flower.


	3. Second Meetings

_**A/N:** I edited this chapter because as the last comment pointed out, I used the wrong form of "stake" (Yes, I was aware of it.Bashful smile . I realized it after I uploaded it but have been too lazy tofix it till now)and I wanted to separate some parts with more spaces. And since I heard some bitching, here I shall state the obvious: DISCLAIMER- Nothing fromTolkiens books belong to me. Duh. The only things/characters that ARE mine are the river Elves (the kings, Tinuthiel, Namariel, Ciranthos) Wow.  
_

**Chapter 3 Second Meetings**

Years passed before Maedhros and Tinuthiel chanced to meet again. The river Elves of Thalos had been driven forth from their home by the forces of Melkor, and they sought refuge at the base of the Mountains near the territories of the Sons of Feanor, after they had wandered to separate locations. They settled near the Blue Mountains, just east of Maglor's lands. The Darkness of Morgoth was spreading through Beleriand like a plague. Great Kings had fallen. Fingon had long since taken up the throne of his father, and was now the High King of the Noldor. Yet despite the wrath of the Sons of Feanor and the might of Fingon Morgoth pressed on and now no lands were safe.

It was late spring, six years before Nirnaeth Arnoediad, the Battle of Unnumbered Tears, in which Fingon would fall and Maedhros's forces would be utterly defeated, betrayed by the weaknesses of Men.

Maedhros had not slept. His dreams were troubled, and he dared not attempt to rest again lest the horrors of Thangorodrim return to him in sleep. He was visiting Maglor and he decided to explore the sparse woods at his brother's boarders. The night was quiet and calm, and he wished that Maglor was awake so that he could speak with someone. But he would not wake his brother just because he was once again having nightmares. Maglor had done enough for Maedhros after his rescue from Thangorodrim. For months Maglor and their brothers had kept Maedhros under a careful eye, and they took care of him until he grew hale. Feanor's heir knew that he must have been a heavy burden during those times. And so he would not wake his brother now.

He walked with his sword at his side-he never went anywhere without it, for he usually needed it. But the eerie serenity of the night did nothing to quell his troubled thoughts. Only Fingon or Maglor could have done that for him, and neither were with him at this moment. But the calm was soon broken.

Maedhros halted as he caught a sound from among the trees. His keen dark eyes scanned his surroundings. Something troubled the warm night, and he thought he knew what it was. The foul scent of Orc reached him, a scent he knew far too well and detested. He narrowed his eyes and his hand grasped the hilt of his sword. His battle-skilled mind worked swiftly to analyze his situation. How many were there? Did they know he was there? Yes, surely they did. He could feel their eyes upon him. Could he defeat them alone? If not, did he have a chance to search for aid?

But his questions were answered when an arrow flew past him, just barely missing his head and it sank into the soft bark of a tree nearby. Maedhros's sword was drawn in a flash and he turned to meet the attack of an Orc that sprang from the shadows. His aim was true and his sword cut the foul creature's throat, and it fell dead. Its fellows joined the attack. There were six of them, hulking in the shadows of the trees with their crude weapons in hand. Maedhros poised himself, waiting for the first strike. It came swiftly as an Orc to his left rushed at him. He quickly felled the beast as the others attacked. He fought them, his lithe feet and agility combining with the wrath of his sword to create a deadly assault. The screeches of the Orcs rang into the air, breaking the quiet of the cloudless night. The blade of Maedhros sang and he slew four Orcs before one managed to land a hit on the Elf. The beast struck Maedhros with his black shield, catching him across the face. Maedhros fell to the ground, bleeding from his nose and mouth. But he did not hesitate, and he looked up to see the Orc swinging at him with its ax. Maedhros quickly rolled onto his side, and the rudely crafted blade hit nothing but grass and soil. Maedhros lashed with his sword and the blade sank into the Orc's stomach. It screeched, revealing its yellow teeth, and it collapsed. Maedhros was on his feet quicker than a hunted deer, and he was met by the fifth attacker, blocking a blow from its sword with his own. But he turned to block the attack from the other Orc, preventing it form gutting him with its knife. But as he did so the first Orc struck once more, and this time his blade cut deep into Maedhros's leg, leaving a six-inch wound on his thigh. The Elf cried out and fell again, but he managed to strike down on of the two remaining enemies as he did. The Orc corpse fell with him, and the last one raised his blade to deliver a final blow to the fallen Elf. But Maedhros saw his opening and took it. He struck and stabbed the Orc through its breastplate, and the blade fell from its hand. Maedhros withdrew his sword and the Orc fell dead.

Maedhros lay for a moment, catching his breath. The black blood of the Orcs stained the grass around him, but the night was silent and calm again. The stars shone above, peeking through the trees and the crickets chirped, unaware of the bloodshed that had just ended.

The Elf sat up, spitting out the blood in his mouth. He wiped the ebony Orc blood from his sword and sheathed it. Maedhros pulled himself to his feet and stumbled, pain shooting from the gash in his left thigh. He bit back a shout before it could finish escaping from his throat and he leaned back against a tree, examining the wound. It was deep and bleeding badly. Crimson was spilled down his leg, staining his robes and boot. It stood out brightly against the smeared black blood of the Orcs that had splashed him.

He grimaced, standing up straight again. He had to get back to Maglor. He listened carefully in case there were any other Orcs nearby, but the small patrolling party had been taken care of. They had just been unlucky enough to run into a Son of Feanor as they scouted. Maedhros took a careful step, testing his leg. He managed a limping gait, and he wandered out of the woods and into the open grassy knolls just beyond his brother's lands. The Blue Mountains rose high into the air, their dark forms standing majestically in the distance. Maedhros looked around, but his tired mind failed to recall how to get back. He cursed himself for wandering off, but he was too tired to dwell on it. He thought he had an idea of where he was. If the mountains were before him, he was facing east, and he must turn south. So he did so, limping as he went.

"Good night, Tinuthiel," said Nimariel. Tinuthiel smiled at her sister and gave a farewell bow of her head.

"Good night, sister," she said, and turned to leave for the night. Nimariel smiled and closed the door behind her. Tinuthiel walked through the encampment, heading back to her little home. It was a nice night: the air was still and not too warm, but not cool. A few clouds were scattered in the sky, and the stars shone here and there. She smiled to herself, enjoying the calm weather and peace of the camp. Most of her people were asleep, but she had dined with her sister and brother-in-law that evening, and now she was ready to retire for the night.

But as she neared her little house by the camp boarders, something caught her eye out in the fields. She paused, heart pounding. For a moment she thought it one of Morgoth's beasts, but then she realized it was either a Man or an Elf. She watched it move in the moonlight, and it stumbled weakly as it walked. Tinuthiel's clear eyes narrowed, trying to determine who it may be. As she watched she became sure that it was an Elf, and she began to walk to it. The Elf looked up as she neared, clutching his leg. Some of his fiery hair fell in his face.

"Please, I mean no harm..." he said wearily. Tinuthiel gasped as she saw that his robes on his left side were soaked in scarlet, and his face was bloodied as well. She rushed to him and caught him by the shoulder as he stumbled.

"Come, you need help," she said urgently and then she paused. He was familiar...he turned his scarred face to look at her and she gasped. "Maedhros!" The injured Elf blinked.

"Tinuthiel?" he said. The Sindar Elf nodded. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

"I could say the same for you, Son of Feanor," replied Tinuthiel. "But we can speak later. Come, you need help." She slung his arm over her shoulder, and Maedhros tensed as he felt her other arm drape across his back, supporting him. But he followed her lead gratefully as she brought him across the field and to her house. She led him inside and released him to hurriedly light the candles. The light of the little flames brought the small house to life. It was not large, as Tinuthiel lived by herself. It was one wide room, similar to the tent Maedhros had resided in while camped at Ascar River. There was a low bed against the back wall and a desk, and lovely fabrics were draped about. Candles sat along small shelves and on the nightstand and the desk. When she had completed bringing light to the place Tinuthiel filled a large bowl of water and went to Maedhros.

"Let me see your wound," she said, sitting on her knees next to him. They sat on the floor, and she had him extend his leg so she could get a better look at it. Maedhros barely had time to protest before Tinuthiel carefully cut the fabric of his outfit, exposing the bleeding wound. She daintily took a cloth and soaked it in the water from the bowl. Then she proceeded to rinse the blood from his leg and clean the gash. Maedhros flinched as the water touched the wound, for it stung mightily but he calmly set his jaw against the pain, used to warfare.

"What happened?" asked Tinuthiel as she worked.

"I encountered a band of Orcs in the forest," he explained.

Tinuthiel looked up suddenly, her face urgent. "Are they still there?" Maedhros shook his head.

"I defeated them."

Tinuthiel paused and looked up at him. His nose and mouth were still bloody from being struck with the shield. She rinsed the cloth and then reached to wipe away the blood. Maedhros flinched again, drawing back and meeting her gaze. Her hand paused for a moment and then reached again, more slowly this time. Maedhros was too weary to resist, and he relaxed a little as she gently dabbed away the blood. She offered a small smile.

"Why are you helping me?" asked Maedhros. Tinuthiel put the cloth back in the bowl. The water now had a dark pink tint to it from the blood.

"Because you were kind to me," she said.

"I slew your people."

The golden-haired Elf nodded. "Aye, but you were still kind to me, and so I owe you a favor."

"You owe me nothing," said Maedhros, and he was stating a fact rather than being humble. Tinuthiel shrugged her slender shoulders and took his arm again, helping him up. He was weak from loss of blood and his side was bruised. She sat him on the low bed now that he was cleaned somewhat. He did not question her, and Tinuthiel went to her desk and rummaged around for a moment, returning with a needle and thread to stitch his wound with. She once again sat on her knees at his side and had Maedhros lay back, propped upon his left elbow. She set to work, carefully proceeding to stitch his thigh. He watched tiredly as her graceful hands wielded the needle and thread precisely. The deep orange light of the candles played upon her golden hair and it shimmered with the dancing of the flames. His own fiery red hair gleamed and the soft flush of light softened his face. He felt drowsy, and had the constant sensation of the needle threading through his skin ceased he may have dozed off. But he patiently watched Tinuthiel, and the fair creature seemed absorbed in her careful work. Maedhros broke the silence with a question of his own.

"You do not live here," he asked.

"Neither do you," pointed out the maid, eyes still on the needle.

"I mean why are your people here and not at Thalos?" He winced as the needle went a little deeper into his skin.

"Apologies," said Tinuthiel, and she continued. "We were driven North. Orcs and Balrogs came, and we have not the strength to face them." Maedhros was silent, thinking this over. He fought off sleep. After a while, Tinuthiel finished and bandaged his leg. She stood up, going to wash her hands.

"Thank you for your assistance," Maedhros said, and he weakly sat upright again. He felt drained but he wanted to go home. Tinuthiel, however walked back over and gently placing a hand on his shoulder, she made him lay back down.

"You need rest. You cannot be traveling after loosing that much blood. That wound is deep and it needs to heal," she said softly. "I can send for your brother Maglor in the morning. He lives near here, does he not?"

Maedhros nodded, giving in and lying back. "Yes, thank you." Tinuthiel smiled and gave a nod. She handed him a glass filled with something.

"Drink this and rest."

Maedhros looked at her and then the glass, considering. Then he did as he was requested and drank the liquid. It was a tonic, and after drinking it he felt himself drift off to sleep.

The air smelled thickly of smoke and burning flesh. It was suffocating. The sun bore down mercilessly through a hazed, brown sky. Maedhros trembled and the laughter of Orcs was around him. He looked up as the Orcs held his arm firmly above his head. Pain shot through his arm and shoulder, radiating from his wrist. He was too weak to struggle and the hammer of Morgoth was raised, ready to drive the stake into the side of Thangorodrim and anchor Maedhros to it. Terror filled Maedhros as he awaited the blow.

_CHING._

_Hammer struck metal, and the stake broke through the rock. Pain splintered through Maedhros's wrist and the hell-wrought band cut into his flesh. The hammer was lifted up and brought down against the metal once more._

_CHING._

_Maedhros cried out in agony, jerked closer to the rock wall. The Orcs laughed as the hammer rose again._

_CHING._

_It had to stop! This pain had to stop! Maedhros watched in despair. Again the hammer rose._

_CHING._

_The stake was almost completely in the rock now. Not again, Maedhros prayed, not another strike. The metal seared against his skin and every stroke of the dark hammer sent a terrible shock through his body. _

_CHING._

_Maedhros screamed, clutching his arm. He felt as though he would suffocate as his rib cage was strained. An Orc struck the Elf across his already bruised and cut face, and the armor put a long gash in Maedhros's flesh, raked across his eye. _

_CHING._

_The hammer-stroke rang in his head and agony surged through him. Again and again it struck, and that awful sound made him want to tear his mind out. Each hit was more unbearable than the last, and that sound kept ringing and ringing. He looked up as the hammer was raised a final time and it struck again, and the stake was driven fully into the mountainside. It was done and the Orcs released Maedhros and he did not fall. The band held him firmly to the mountainside, and the ground was so far below him—_

Maedhros sat bolt upright with a shout. He sat wide-eyed in a cold sweat, breathing hard. He was in Tinuthiel's house, not hanging from Thangorodrim. The soft, dim light of dying candles was a gentle contrast to the horrible waste of Angband. It was still dark outside. Upon his cry, Tinuthiel stood from where she was sitting and dozing, startled. She went over to him.

"What's wrong?" she asked gently, kneeling by the bedside. Maedhros tried to calm himself. He knew it was only a nightmare, and he had them frequently, but they were always so real...He lifted his shaky hand to his face, brushing his fingers along the scar that had been left by the Orc's armor. Tinuthiel looked at him, concerned. She softly brushed back a strand of red hair, examining his face. He felt himself calming down.

"I'm sorry," he stammered. "It was just...just a dream."

Tinuthiel nodded. "It is alright. That must have been some dream. A nightmare." Now Maedhros nodded, running his fingers through his hair.

"Yes. A nightmare."

Tinuthiel rested her chin on her hands, still kneeling at the bed. "What did you see?" she asked quietly. Maedhros's eyes left hers, and he thought for a moment. He never spoke to anyone save Maglor and Fingon when asked about his nightmares. But Tinuthiel's clear blue eyes watched him, and he opened his mouth to say something but closed it. Then he found his voice.

"I was back...at Thangorodrim."

"Where you were hung?"

Maedhros nodded. Tinuthiel was quiet for a moment. "That must have been horrible...what he did to you." Maedhros said nothing. But the sound of the hammer still rang in his mind. Tinuthiel stood after a moment, pulling back her wavy hair.

"Try and rest until morning. Then I will send for your brother," she said gently.

Maglor came just before noon, leading Maedhros's horse. Maedhros carefully stood at the entrance to Tinuthiel's house, leaning against the doorway, and gave a helpless smile to Maglor as he approached. Tinuthiel stood next to him. Maglor dismounted and walked over to them, looking annoyed.

"Good morrow, little brother," said Maedhros.

"You dub me 'little' yet it appears I have more wit than you, brother," replied Maglor. But they both knew he was glad to see Maedhros was safe. "I was worried sick when I awoke and you weren't in your quarters. And you went and got yourself injured."

"I know, forgive me, Maglor," said Maedhros. He turned his gaze to Tinuthiel. "Maglor, you know Tinuthiel, even if you do not remember her. She is the maiden our pleasant brother caught and left in my tent at Thalos River."

Maglor narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, looking Tinuthiel over. Then he nodded with a smile. "Aye, I do remember her." He took Tinuthiel's hand and kissed it in greeting. She smiled and bowed her head.

"And you are Lord Maglor, then. Your brother seems to think quite highly of you," she said, smiling at Maedhros.

Maglor gave a laugh. "Well I should hope so. I'm the one who ends up taking care of him when he is injured. Now I see you took up the job, milady." He eyed Maedhros's leg. "Are you alright?" Maedhros nodded.

"There were six Orcs. One caught me with his blade, but the lady here was kind enough to aid me."

Maglor smiled again and nodded. He turned to Tinuthiel. "I cannot thank you enough, milady. You and your people are always welcome in my lands."

"And mine," added Maedhros. Tinuthiel smiled and gave another bow of her head.

"It was no trouble," she replied pleasantly. They stood quietly for a moment, Maglor and Tinuthiel smiling.

"Well my brother and I should be off," said Maglor. "Thank you once more, milady." Maedhros nodded in agreement.

"Yes," he said, looking at Tinuthiel. "You have my unending gratitude."

"Just take care of yourself, Son of Feanor," she said. "Be careful on that leg."

Maedhros nodded and Maglor aided him on to Turanthir. Maedhros grimaced, but he knew that Turanthir would bare him smoothly. Maglor had put a saddle on Turanthir to make it easier for Maedhros to ride him. This way he did not have to do as much work.

"Farewell," said Tinuthiel. Maedhros and Maglor said good-bye, and the Elves that passed by in the village watched in curiosity as the two elder Sons of Feanor rode off at an easy pace. Maedhros glanced back over his shoulder a last time, watching as Tinuthiel's form sank into the distance.

Maglor had Maedhros give an account of everything that had happened as they rode. Maedhros told him everything except about his nightmare. The dark-haired Elf nodded, listening quietly, interrupting his brother only to ask a question or two here and there. Maedhros finished his story and Maglor nodded, thinking quietly.

"Sounds like you had an interesting night," he mused. "By Telperion, that Tinuthiel is a vision, is she not?" Maedhros nodded quietly and Maglor studied his brother. "You say she is one of the Sindar who lived by Thalos River? And she helped you after what we did?" Maedhros nodded again.

"I questioned her on that as well. She said that she helped me because I had been kind to her after Caranthir had her taken." Maglor nodded thoughtfully.

"She seemed very kind."

"She was."

They arrived at Maglor's home and Maedhros remained there for a few weeks until he was healed enough to ride. Then he returned to his own quiet lands and took to his usual solitude. But where once the quiet stillness of his home had suited him justly now he found he longed for company, and his mind strayed ever to Tinuthiel. He sat for long hours in his study, pondering. He still could not understand why she had helped him. He thought back to when his father had died. Feanor had been a harsh, fell soul, even towards his sons, but he was still Maedhros's father, and he had loved him. He remembered everything. Amrod and Amras's loss for understanding at why that had to happen. He remembered Caranthir facing North towards Angband and screaming in rage, cursing Morgoth and all of his dark creations from Orc to Balrog. His own bitterness and the overwhelming feeling of responsibility he felt at the thought of having to take his father's place as High King of the Noldor.

And he remembered the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach upon seeing that even to his death his father's obsession with the Silmarils had not waned. With his dying breath he could not even think to say anything to his faithful sons except to remember their Oath and reclaim the jewels.

Maedhros sighed and took a sip of his ale, sitting at the desk in his study. It was dark out but he did not sleep. Instead he sat quietly, pouring over maps of Beleriand. He sighed and stood up, going to his room. He opened a drawer in his bureau where he kept his weapons-his sword and his knives, and a sleek bow that he could, unfortunately, no longer use. Each was carefully and neatly placed in the drawer, but he did not reach for any of them. Instead he lifted aside the soft velvet that his weapons rested upon and revealed the little white flower Tinuthiel had given him long ago. He took it in his hand, examining it must like Tinuthiel herself had done when she had picked it.

"Why did you help me?" he wondered aloud. He and his brothers had lived their lives being hated. For all the terrible deeds they had done. Why had Tinuthiel helped him? Just a warrior. Just a vagabond.

"Just a killer..."

Nimariel took three strands of Tinuthiel's hair and had begun to braid them. Tinuthiel was once again staying with her sister and brother-in-law. They were in Nimariel's room, and Tinuthiel sat in a chair facing the mirror while her sister did her hair.

"Feanor's son," said Nimariel in disbelief. Tinuthiel nodded.

"Yes, Feanor's son," she confirmed.

"His eldest son."

Again, Tinuthiel nodded. Nimariel shook her head in wonder. "Was he not the one who had taken you captive?"

Tinuthiel gazed at her sister in the mirror. "It was not he, but his brother. He gave me to Maedhros, but Maedhros brought me back."

"Ah. What is he like?" asked Nimariel. She finished one braid. Tinuthiel thought for a moment.

"Well," she said. "He is definitely a son of Feanor." Nimariel gave a small laugh. "But he does not seem to take any pleasure in the things they have done. He seems...bitter about it. Yes, he is very bitter. And you recall the story of Maedhros's capture? When King Fingon rescued him?"

"Yes, of course," said Nimariel.

"While I cared for him he had a nightmare. About when he was at Thangorodrim."

Nimariel shook her head, and her wavy hair shimmered. "That must have been a dreadful thing to go through."

"Yes. I asked him about it," said Tinuthiel.

"And what did he say?" inquired her sister.

Tinuthiel looked at herself in the mirror, watching as Nimariel's fingers worked on the braids in her gold hair. "He said nothing. But his eyes grew distant. He still carries the scars on his faces."

"I pray that this war sees an end soon," said Nimariel. "Too many have suffered at Melkor's hands...But anyway." She offered a smile at her sister, finishing the braids. Tinuthiel smiled back.

"I wonder if I'll ever see him again," she mused. Nimariel raised her eyebrows, watching her sister with clever green eyes.

"You may yet. Would you like to?"

"Yes, he was kind."

Nimariel smiled and nodded. They gazed in the mirror quietly for a moment until the quiet was broken by Ciranthos, Nimariel's husband. He knocked softly on the door, and the sisters bid him to enter.

The light haired, handsome Ciranthos opened the door and smiled at his wife and sister-in-law. "Dinner is ready, my dears," he said. Nimariel stood up, grinning and went to wrap her arms around Ciranthos neck. She kissed her husband as Tinuthiel stood up, smiling.

"We shall be there momentarily, darling," said Nimariel. Ciranthos nodded.

"Alright then. I shall wait for you," he said and grinned at them. Then he left and Nimariel went back to Tinuthiel.

"The Sons of Feanor are fell souls," she said. "But if you say that this Maedhros was kind to you then I have no quarrel with him." She smiled, and Tinuthiel smiled back.

"Then come, let us away to dinner," she said. Nimariel smiled and nodded, and the sisters left her quarters to join Ciranthos and eat.

_**A/N:** Wooo end of chapter three. I actually have a LOT more written for this story but its on this ANCIENT laptop I was using (like, my dad was using it in Saudi Arabia during Operation Desert Storm...thats how old) and its so old I cant get the documents off of it. I dont want to have to retype over 20,000 words > So have patient, my wonderful readers. I 3 you. Im workin as best I can to get it up. . Thanks to all the people who made nice comments...no thanks to the...one? who didnt. Dont be stingy. This is fanFICTION. Dur. I can make up what I want._


	4. The Gathered Forces

**A/N: **_Fiiiiinally. Got chapter four up. I had to retype the whole thing since I cant transfer it from my old laptop to my new one. Now Id like to say a few things in reply to comments made. Please keep in mind that this is a FANFIC. I am well aware of who the Elven kings are, the Thalos Elves were my creation. Dur. And I know the details aren't perfect. In fact I'll tell you right now that the timeline will be horribly skewed later on. But I think I did an okay job and Im just trying to stay true to Tolkien, not rewrite him. And if you dont like the story I dont care. Dont read it. Sheesh...Oo And for those of you who are actually returning to see if Ive updated (and even for those who didnt but still left nice comments and read the story) thank you sooo much . Here's to you.  
_

**Chapter 4**

The Gathered Forces

Maglor's Gap became threatened. Maedhros and his brother found themselves fighting off more and more Orc scouting parties. It came to the point where the Sindar Elves who hailed from Thalos had joined them in combat, pushing aside the grudge over the attack from Feanor's sons and the slaying of their old king. While the five other Sons of Feanor were busy defending their own lands, Maedhros called upon King Fingon for aid. His lifelong friend readily answered, and marched with a decent host of soldiers to Maglor's lands.

Thus the troops of Fingon, the Sons of Feanor, and the Thalos Elves were joined in a common cause. Fingon and Maedhros set up encampments by Maglor's lands, not far from the makeshift village of the Sindar Elves. Winter approached and the skies to the North near Angband grew dark, and the first snows reached Maglor's Gap. Cold winds from the Blue Mountains traveled to the Elven camps.

Maedhros stepped out of his tent into the snow. It was quiet in the camp and his breath rose in plumes into the freezing air. The snowfall had ceased for now, leaving an alabaster blanket over the lands. The skies were grey. Maedhros looked about, seeing scattered soldiers walking here and there and meager campfires were set up, their makers huddled about them. The sleek Elf began to walk, feet treading lightly upon the snow. He met Fingon as he exited his own tent. The dark-haired Elf smiled as his friend approached.

"Good morrow, cousin," said Fingon. Maedhros gave a nod in greeting.

"Let us hope it is," he said. Fingon's cheery disposition did not falter, however. He looked out over the camp as he put on his gloves and rubbed his hands together.

"Any sign of attack?"

Maedhros shook his head. "The night was quiet." Fingon nodded as they gazed around. "The Sindar Elves had some old friends send them more horses."

"Good, good," said Fingon. "There are never too many horses."

"Aye," Maedhros agreed. The two cousins began to walk together through the camp. Both Sindar and Noldor Elves were about, sharpening swords and knives for tattle, cooking a quick meal over a fire, talking quietly amongst themselves, and grooming their horses.

Fingon spoke after a while. "I hope the winter does not worsen," he said.

"It may yet help us. The Orcs are not as skilled in the snow as we are," Maedhros pointed out. Fingon shrugged as they walked, and after a while a familiar Elf approached them.

"Well, we meet again, Son of Feanor," said Tinuthiel. She was walking towards them, smiling. Fingon cast a glance to Maedhros, who offered a small smile and a dip of his head to Tinuthiel.

"So it seems, milady," he replied. Tinuthiel. She was walking towards them, smiling. "Fingon, this is Tinuthiel."

Fingon's face brightened. "Ah, a pleasure to meet you at last. I heard of the assistance you gave my cousin," said the king. "I was very grateful to hear it."

Maedhros set his jaw, weary of the incident and the worry of his kin. But Tinuthiel smiled pleasantly, bowing elegantly.

"The pleasure is mine, King Fingon," she replied. "And as I have said before, it was no trouble," The grey, bleak weather had assailed every soul in the region, and yet it failed to dim her beauty. She stood a golden figure against the harsh white of the snows, soft and fair.

"Well I must away," said Fingon, smiling to Maedhros and Tinuthiel. "I hope we meet again, my lady." He bowed courteously to her and then gave a nod to Maedhros. "And I shall see you shortly, I am sure, cousin."

Maedhros watched as Fingon took his leave, and he began to walk with Tinuthiel. She fell into an eloquent stride beside him, hands folded neatly before head. She was dressed warmly but simply.

"How is your leg these days?" she asked Maedhros, grinning at him sideways.

Maedhros tilted his head and raised his brow. "Fine, thanks to your kindness."

"I am glad to hear it," said the maiden lightly. Maedhros came again to his tent and went to Turanthir, who was standing in the snow quietly, covered by a thick blanket. Tinuthiel stood by the tall Elf warrior as he removed the blanket from his steed and began to brush the horse's flank. Turanthir snorted, sending a cloud of frosted breath into the frigid air.

"The soldiers have fought bravely," she mused softly. Maedhros continued to brush Turanthir's dark fur.

"I expect no less from fine Elves such as they," he responded. Tinuthiel watched him, the pleasant smile still playing upon her face. After a moment, she ran her fingers through the horse's mane and then took a few strands of it, beginning to form a small, quaint braid. Maedhros turned his impassive gaze to her hands as they began to craft, considering it for a moment. But he seemed to have decided a braid in his horse's man would do no harm, and so he continued his own work.

"How long have you been fighting in this war, friend?" Tinuthiel asked.

"Long enough. Since its dawn."

Tinuthiel nodded, and both Elves were focused on their work. "That is a long time. Do you ever weary of battle?"

Maedhros paused. "Are you always this persistent with questions?" he asked. Tinuthiel calmly met his gaze.

"I think you need someone to ask you questions."

"And you are my caretaker now?"

She shook her head, still smiling. "Nay. But you seem so quiet all the time." Maedhros shrugged. Tinuthiel finished the braid and tied it with a small thread. She patted Turanthir's neck and reached to stroke his velvety muzzle. The steed turned to sniff her hand and nudged it, seeking food. She smiled and looked back at Maedhros. The tall Elf opened his mouth to say something, but the sound of trumpets split the frozen air, which was so dry and cold it seemed as though the sudden sharp noise might shatter it. The Elves looked up and Maglor rode up to them, his brown horse's hooves kicking up the snow as it halted.

"Orcs coming from the northeast-near the forests!" he said urgently. Maedhros wasted no time and he lithely sprang onto Turanthir's back after removing the loose rope from around the steed's neck. The camp had sprung suddenly to action as the soldiers ran and rode to face the approaching enemy. Maglor turned and rode off, and Maedhros turned his mount and looked down at Tinuthiel.

"Get to safety," he said quickly.

"Be careful, friend," she said. Maedhros clicked his tongue and Turanthir took off in the snow, joining the fray. Tinuthiel turned to run back towards her people running through the crowd of soldiers.

Maedhros rode and caught up with Maglor, and the brothers were soon met by Fingon as he rode. They each called to them their armies and spread themselves out to meet a host of Orcs. The Sindar Elves joined them. The battle lasted until nightfall, and the Elven forces were victorious, but not with out loss. Maglor's second in command, a valiant Elf named Lorgedel, was slain as well as a close friend of Thrandolhir. But most of the soldiers returned to the camps, and there was a relief that spread through the region that they had withstood Morgoth's parties once again.

Tinuthiel was with her sister, and they waited tensely in Nimariel's home for the soldiers to arrive-hoping they would arrive. When at last through the window they say their kin returning through the grey winter they sighed happily, grasping each other's hands. When they saw Ciranthos their delight was lifted even higher, and they opened their doors to meet him. Nimariel ran to her husband and embraced him, and they found him hale. Ciranthos smiled warmly, holding his beloved tightly before kissing her brow and then reaching to hug Tinuthiel. And as the three reentered their home Tinuthiel looked out at the host of tired, returning soldiers, and she espied Maedhros from afar. He looked truly noble then, riding back upon the wings of victory and the safety of his troops and kin. He sat poised securely on the bare back of the mighty stallion, his fiery hair making him easily identifiable among the golden and dark crowns of the rest of the warriors. Tinuthiel smiled to himself, glad that he was safe, and then he went inside her sister's house and closed the door.

_**A/N:** This was a useless chapter. I promise something better next. And omg we MIGHT be getting close to actually learning about Maecelofin since that IS my purpose for writing this...Oo_


	5. Duty Calls

**A/N:**_ And here it is, folks. This is the final chapter of Part I. So...  
DISCLAIMER: None of the Silmarilion stuff/ cahracters belong to me. The only characters that do are the Thalos River Elves, the misc Elves,...and Maedhros' horse, Turanthir. . So enjoy! Read/Review, my lovlies. XD Oh, and there are supposed to be like, double spaces between some paragraphs to break them up but I cant figure out how to make that show up on the format. It just sticks it all together. xx If anyone can tell me how to fix that I'd REALLY appreciate it! ._

**Chapter 5**

Duty Calls

Winter waned to spring, yielding to its gentle warmth and soft breezes. Morgoth's forces had withdrawn form Maglor's Gap, and it seemed, for the time being, safe once more. It was now five years until Nirnaeth Arnoediad. Maedhros and Tinuthiel spoke often now, as Fingon's forces drew back to their homes and the lands quieted again. They spent many long walks together, discussing the differences in their people's culture, and yet finding that they were not so different-the Noldor and the Sindar. As the snows melted, the green fields returned and the waters flowed eagerly from the Blue Mountains as the caps melted away. Tinuthiel enjoyed the change, and delighted in the seeing the green grass and the colorful flowers in the lands once more, though they were not as brilliant as they likely once were ere Morgoth settled in the North. Yet she loved them in nevertheless.

And Maedhros watched her in all her light-hearted ways. She had a bright soul that reminded him at times of his beloved cousin Fingon, and she managed to break his stoic face into a small smile now and again. She would reach down to pick flowers as they walked, and while they conversed she would craftily weave them in a crown or a simple chain. Once she made a particularly complex piece of art, and she placed it upon Maedhros' head. The Noldor prince had flinched at her sudden movement towards him, and quickly but carefully removed the blossoms from his head. But Tinuthiel had laughed, a sweet and gentle sound as the creeks in the forest.

Normally their conversations were slightly one-sided, as Maedhros' sternly quiet disposition was not easily mastered, and he took to listening to Tinuthiel's voice as she spoke of the old customs of her village as they had been in happier times.

And yet the Oath boiled through Maedhros' veins. He enjoyed being with Tinuthiel and close to his brother Maglor. Yet Beren, lover of the fair Luthien, was on the move in distant regions, and ever he came closer to possessing a Silmaril. While Maedhros did not know exactly what events were taking place at the time, something stirred within him. It kept him awake at night and tense during the day. He could feel it, feel that a light soul was so very close to obtaining the fair jewel. Tinuthiel sensed the terseness within Maedhros, and while he was never harsh to those around him he knew that something bothered him, like an unreachable itch in the back of his mind. Yet he remained in Maglor's lands, keeping his forces there as a caution in case Morgoth indeed decided to attack in the coming seasons. And he continued to walk with Tinuthiel as spring drew close to summer, and the days grew longer and warmer.

On one such warm evening he and Tinuthiel were once again walking, and made their way through the encampment. The spirits of the soldiers had lightened, and they now seemed at ease with the winter's passing. They came to Maedhros' tent and stepped in.

Maedhros' face seemed drawn and his eyes weary. Tinuthiel worried for him, and gently pressed what was on his mind. But when she did so he leaned heavily against the dresser in his tent and turned away from her with his head in his hand.

"I cannot do this on my own," he said in a worn tone. Tinuthiel narrowed her eyes.

"Do what, Maedhros?" she asked.

"Fight him. I cannot face Angband alone."

Tinuthiel shook her head. "But you are not alone. You brothers fight with you. King Fingon fights with you."

"Yes, Manwe bless them." replied Maedhros, lifting his head slightly. "But no others fight. No one fights near the Sons of Feanor." His voice turned bitter, and his eyes were narrowed in frustration. Tinuthiel looked at him and suddenly saw years of war and strife in his eyes, and a deep pity welled in her.

"The rest of my kin-my cousins…they hold the grudge for my father and Thingol sits idle while Morgoth's victory draws closer…And that-that mortal seeks my father's treasure that belongs to the House of Feanor and no other," he growled. He was suddenly pouring out everything he had stressed over for months now. Tinuthiel listened sympathetically, seeing the pained expression on Maedhros' face. He shook his head, lifting it to look blankly in front of him. "People look at warriors and they see the scars and the stories of how they were acquired but they fail to see the soul behind them…." Here his voice grew distant, and his eloquent form seemed darkened somehow. Tinuthiel's gaze did not falter. She ventured to speak to the despairing warrior.

"Maedhros, when I saw you in the fields that night I recognized you by your face, not your missing hand," she said compassionately.

Maedhros stopped suddenly, gripped by her words. He slowly turned his head to look at her. Their eyes met and in that moment Tinuthiel seemed far too fair for this world-Arda was not worthy of her grace. Maedhros' heart seemed to break and pull itself together again at the words.

Then Maedhros turned, stepping forward, and kissed her.

Tinuthiel returned the kiss, slow and sweet. Thus the battle-scarred heart of Maedhros, eldest son of Feanor, was softened. They stood, kissing gently, and the world was left behind until they slowly broke away, faces still close. The held each other's gaze in silence for a moment, but no sooner had they done so a soldier of Maedhros' army pulled back the fabric draped over the doorway and poked his head in.

"My lord?" he called. Maedhros blinked, but he and Tinuthiel did not take their gazes from each other's eyes, and the prince's back was to the messenger. "Lord Maglor requests and audience." The soldier left, and Maedhros' gaze fell suddenly before looking back up at Tinuthiel.

The maiden smiled. "Go to your brother, Son of Feanor," she said charmingly. "I can find my way home on my own." Maedhros gave a sigh, not wanting to leave. But he nodded and turned around, looking back at Tinuthiel as he departed. She just wanted him to go with that gentle, sweet smile of hers.

The month drew to a close, and Maedhros and Maglor would leave their lands soon to gather their forces elsewhere. The Silmaril was on the move, and so they must be as well. Beren was so close to his goal, and the Hounds of Angband and Valinor would soon meet in mortal combat.

These events finally came to pass while Maedhros sat in his study in his quiet abode, having returned home for the time being. So the Silmaril had at lat come to the hands of the human Beren. He and his brothers had fought, shed blood, and slain kin to attempt to reclaim those jewels…and now a single Man had brought about its return to the forces of light.

It was inspiring…it was a sign of hope…that the impossible could be done…

But it was maddening.

Maedhros found himself pacing furiously, his heart longing to Tinuthiel and her gentle touch, her soft, soothing voice. He had remained in the encampment in Maglor's lands for another two weeks since they had first kissed. It had been barely a week since he left and he already found himself missing her.

He was leaving in the early afternoon the following day. Leaving once more for war and battle, and the dreaded darkness of Morgoth. Some good had come from Beren: he had been valiant, to be sure. And he had inspired hope.

In his hand Maedhros clasped the flower from long ago, and as he studied the careful, delicate form he knew he could not leave without seeing her again. He had seen too many fall in battle and seen far too many grieving widows left behind them, wishing for just one more chance to see their lovers….

Maedhros stood, going to his bureau and grabbed his sword. He managed with some difficulty to tie the belt and secure his sword to his side. It was a task that, skilled as he may have become with using only his left hand, remained to be and always would be difficult. It took him several minutes but he would not dare venture outside without a weapon.

It was late afternoon when he set out and he took Turanthir out of the stables himself. He walked the sturdy stallion out to the grasses and mounted him. With a quick word the horse was off in a flash, swift as the wind. Turanthir bore him smoothly through the March of Maedhros and Maglor's Gap, and just after sunset he reached Tinuthiel's house. But he came from the north, around the back of the quaint village. He dismounted, stroking Turanthir's flank and leaving him hidden from the eyes of the rest of the village at the corner of the house.

The constant chirping of crickets sang into the warm, young night. Maedhros quietly crept around to the front of Tinuthiel's house. He lifted his hand and hesitated, but then he knocked on the door, knuckles rapping gently. After a moment Tinuthiel answered. The door opened smoothly and her fair face appeared as she peered through the newly-made gap. She opened the door wider, her eyes brightening as she saw who had knocked.

"Maedhros!" she said softly, but obviously glad to see him. She quickly beckoned him inside, glancing around the quiet village before closing the door. Fortunately no one was out and about.

Maedhros stepped in as she closed the door quietly and then turned to him. She wrapped her arms around his neck in an embrace, and he returned it warmly. Her house was filled, as usual, with the warm and inviting glow of candles. Maedhros would miss that soft glow, as well as the sweet, fresh scent that was always about Tinuthiel's house.

Tinuthiel took one look at Maedhros and knew that something was on his mind. She could always tell. A clever smiled spread across her face. "What troubles you, Son of Feanor?" she asked, going to her sink to finish putting away a few dishes. Maedhros sank down to sit on the foot of her bed, but was quiet. After a few moments Tinuthiel came and sat next to him, knees drawn under her. She tilted her head, her face looking concerned. Gently, she lifted a delicate hand and brushed back a few strands of fiery hair from Maedhros' face. She did this a few times, watching him as he stared blankly ahead.

"Beren," he said.

Tinuthiel's brow furrowed. "What?"

"Beren," repeated Maedhros. "He is the human who found the Silmaril." A small, defeated smile crept over his fair features, and he turned his head to look at her. "A mortal Man found it."

Tinuthiel sigh, but offered an equally small smile. "Is that what you came all the way to say to me, Feanor's Son?" she asked. Maedhros shook his head, giving a weak little laugh. They sat silently for a moment, and Tinuthiel's smile faded. A question tugged at her heart, and her usually light spirit fell.

"You're leaving, aren't you?" she asked.

Maedhros studied the floor and hesitated before nodding gravely.

"When?"

"In the morning."

Tinuthiel closed her eyes. Her dread had come true, and she felt her heart be caught in its grip. She slowly stood up, taking a few steps away and thinking hard.

"Maglor and I are traveling towards Fingon's lands. Morgoth's forces are pressing in hard," Maedhros said quietly. He felt Tinuthiel grip his arm. She buried her face in his shoulder sadly. She did not want him to go. She hated the through of Maedhros going off to fight again. He had already fought for so long…what if something happened to him? Or if he remained safe, how long would it be until they saw one another again? Surely months…Valar forbid years…

Maedhros remained in a somber silence, taking in her presence. Tinuthiel gently gripped his arms again, and then lifted her head. She kissed his cheek shifted to move behind him. Maedhros felt her arms wrap around his shoulders and chest, and her head lean against the back of his neck.

"Maedhros…" came her soft voice, and in response he turned his head ever so slightly. She reached around to the belt that held his sword, and her crafty hands worked and removed the weapon. Tinuthiel took the sword and set it on the floor. Maedhros watched and then she returned to her seat behind him. It was almost liberating to have her take away that weapon, that tool in the art of killing. Maedhros felt lighter as it was set upon the floor, as though assuring him that while he was here he would not need to think of the burden that it brought.

Tinuthiel ran her hand to the collar of his robes. Maedhros cast a quick glance down but did not pull away from her. Tinuthiel then slid the top part of his robes off, the fabric slipping over the finely toned muscles of his arms and chest. The scars of Thangorodrim and various battles were revealed, but they did nothing to demean the fair and handsome appearance of the Noldor prince. Maedhros slid his arms out of the sleeves, and turned his form to gaze at Tinuthiel behind him. Their eyes met first and then their lips, and Tinuthiel took Maedhros' chin gently in her hands. Maedhros brought his own to stroke her cheek as they kissed, and Tinuthiel drew him closer. The world ceased. There was only each other- no battles, no Silmarils, no oaths, no Noldor and Sindar, no Dark Lord on a Dark Throne in the North. And as Tinuthiel drew Maedhros closer to her and he laid her back there was no Valar, no sea between them and the heaven of Valinor. There was no death, but also no immortality. It was just them and that night-that one night.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...(A/N: Thats my makeshift line break..xx)

Maedhros laced his fingers through Tinuthiel's hair-soft and silken as the gentle brush of a spring breeze. Her arms were folded before her, and she and Maedhros gazed into each other's eyes. They lay close together, and the warm golden flush of the candlelight made their skin appear a gorgeous bronze color.

Maedhros was at a strange, rare peace as he worked his fingers through Tinuthiel's hair, and then moved his hand down to softly run his fingertips along her spine. She flashed a sweet smile at him and he smiled back.

"What is going through your head, Son of Feanor?" she asked, her voice a clever purr.

Maedhros shook his head. "The regret that I have but one hand to hold you with," he said, but a genuine smile showed the good nature in his words and Tinuthiel gave a soft, gentle laugh. But her smile faded thoughtfully as she ran her hand over his chest and arm, feeling the iron-strong muscles that had been toned acutely through many battles. She reached up to trace the scars on his face, her fingertips brushing lightly against his skin. He closed his eyes as her finger traced along the long scar that reached past his left eye-the one left by the Orc who struck him at Thangorodrim.

He watched as she did so and saw Tinuthiel's face grow sad, and tears filled her eyes. Maedhros furrowed his brow and shifted. "Tinuthiel….what is wrong?" he asked gently. Tinuthiel fought tears and shook her head, looking into his eyes.

"I do not want you to leave tomorrow," she said. "I am afraid…I shall never see you again…" Her voice broke. She could not bare the thought of Maedhros leaving once more to face death or worse…

"Oooh…." Maedhros said thoughtfully. He drew Tinuthiel closer, holding her head to his chest. As he smoothed her hair, her shoulders shuddered with a silent sob. "I shall come back to you."

"How do you know?" asked Tinuthiel. "What if something should happen to you?"

Maedhros pulled her away slightly to look at her face. He wiped the tears from her eyes. "Shh, do not cry, love," he soothed. "I cannot just sit idle while Morgoth's forces creep across Beleriand. No one is safe while he reigns."

Tinuthiel nodded, calming herself. "Yes…yes, I know..."

"I have to go," he said. "If anything, to protect _you_…."

Tinuthiel gazed up at him. She took a strand of fiery hair, running it through her fingers. "When will you return?"

Maedhros was quiet for a moment. In truth he did not know. But he knew it would be a long time-far longer than he was willing to tell Tinuthiel. Perhaps not before the war was over, whatever the outcome may be. "I shall be back as soon as I can, I promise."

Tinuthiel nodded and they were silent. It was still dark out, and there were a few hours before the sun would begin to rise. She seemed comforted, which in turn calmed Maedhros.

Then she said, "Tell me about you."

Maedhros narrowed his eyes, puzzled. "What do you mean? You know about me."

"I mean your whole story."

"Everything?"

Tinuthiel nodded. So Maedhros told her everything. He told her of his childhood in Valinor. How he and Fingon had met and of his days of watching his little brothers and working with his father, trying to take up his trade. But Maedhros never really enjoyed working in the forge and he much preferred listening to Maglor practice his music. He told her of the unrest of the Noldor and when Melkor fled. The slaying of his grandfather, King Finwe, and the rage of his father. How the Silmarils had been crafted and later stolen. How Feanor and his sons too that dreaded Oath-the Oath that now tormented the Seven Sons. He told her of the great journey back to Middle-Earth, and the Kinslaying at Alqualonde ad the burning of the ships at Losgar. How Maedhros stood aside helplessly as his father stranded their kin across the waters, and for days he could only think of Fingon on the far shores, betrayed. He wove his tale on to the slaying of his father and how he had become High King of the Noldor upon Feanor's death. Then he reached the point in his tale of his capture, how his forces had been ambushed. He told her every detail she desired, how the iron band was welded about his wrist and of the hammer-stroke, how it drove the iron deeper and deeper into the mountain. Maedhros told her how the sun bore down upon him and the air was foul enough to strangle any Elf. How when it was not stifling hot it was bone-shattering cold. How the dark devices of Morgoth gave him just enough nourishment to keep him alive, and they mocked him and laughed at his torment and misery. He had heard the trumpets of Fingolfin his uncle, and he had cried out but his voice had gone unheeded. But at long last Fingon had come, and Maedhros told Tinuthiel of his rescue. When he spoke of the horrors of Morgoth and the suffering he had endured at Angband he trembled, and Tinuthiel saw that distant look return to his eyes, though he was not aware of either. At such times Tinuthiel pulled him close, running her fingers through his hair and kissing his forehead as he spoke on. He continued to tell of his recovery and his surrender of the title of High King to his uncle, and his brothers' shock at his actions, all the way to that day when he and his brothers had attacked the village of Thalos River.

Tinuthiel listened quietly, asking few questions as he spoke. By the end of his tale the spell that had come over him as he spoke of Thangorodrim had passed.

"Sometimes I wonder what my brothers think we shall gain from this crusade," he said, regarding the Silmarils. He shook his head. "I know _I_ do not know. But most of them seem far more eager to fight for the jewels."

Tinuthiel smiled. "But you love them all."

Maedhros returned the smile. "Of course I do."

"Even Caranthir?" she asked knowingly, and Maedhros gave a small laugh.

"Yes, even Caranthir." Tinuthiel laughed as well and snuggled closer to him, sighing contentedly and closing her eyes. Maedhros closed his as well. "Tell me about you."

Tinuthiel smiled, keeping her eyes closed. "My story is not very long, and not nearly as interesting as yours."

"That is fine."

So Tinuthiel told him that she had been born in the village by Thalos. Nimariel was her twin, as Maedhros already knew. He had met her and Ciranthos a few times while he remained at the camp in Maglor's lands. Tinuthiel and Nimariel lived with their parents until they were grown. Their parents had long since gone to other regions to help kin, but the sisters remained at the river. They had a relatively peaceful life, and had grown up very close. Nimariel had been married for about seven years now, and Ciranthos had become as a brother to Tinuthiel. Often she stayed with them, and she saw them everyday, as they had always lived just across the paths from each other. They had been fortunate enough to have avoided the worst of Morgoth until recent years. And now she was here lying next to Maedhros with a few hours remaining before dawn.

"You have been blessed, it seems," said Maedhros. "I envy such a life." Tinuthiel opened her eyes and looked at him. A smile spread across her lips and she stroked his face.

"Yes. I have been," she said.

Maedhros and Tinuthiel fell asleep wrapped in each other's arms and everything was perfect until morning.

Maedhros awoke as the sun rose. As he opened his eyes he saw Tinuthiel, her eyes even with his, but she was still sleeping soundly. Dread came over Maedhros in full force as he realized it was time for him to leave. His heart felt like it would shatter as he looked at Tinuthiel, sleeping serenely like some angle in the pale light. Her eyes had that peaceful, distant look to them that Elves got when sleeping. The candles had long since burnt out. Reluctantly, Maedhros gently shook her away. Tinuthiel slowly focused her eyes, looking at him.

"My love?" said Maedhros.

"Yes?"

"It is dawn."

They stood at the back corner of her house, and Maedhros was checking Turanthir over. Tinuthiel watched, hands on her arms. The morning was cool and young, and the eastern sky was pale. The western sky was still faintly dark.

Maedhros finished checking his horse and he stood to face Tinuthiel, sighing heavily. This was it. The time had come for him to leave. Tinuthiel's lovely sapphire eyes glittered with tears. "Do not cry," said Maedhros softly, and he took her in his arms. She wrapped hers around him, as though if she held him close enough he would never have to leave. "Please smile….for me." Tinuthiel bit back her tears, trying to smile. Maedhros also held back his urge to sink to the ground with her and weep. But he was used to masking thoughts and he did it now and tried to comfort Tinuthiel.

She looked up at him and managed a small smile. Maedhros returned it and kissed her deeply. Tinuthiel locked her arms around his neck, holding him closer and she kissed back. Maedhros wanted to hold her in his arms forever, but he knew he could not. The ache that they both felt in their hearts and stomachs doubled as they broke apart, and Maedhros gave her one last kiss on her brow before mounting his horse.

"Be careful," said Tinuthiel tearfully. "Come back to me."

Maedhros looked down at her. "I will not say farewell. For the moment I can be here I shall return," promised Maedhros. "You have my word." Tinuthiel forced a smile and nodded, her gaze falling.

"Tinuthiel."

She looked up at Maedhros' regal form.

"I keep my oaths," he said, and turned his horse to ride off to the west.

Tinuthiel's heart ached and she thought she might be sick as she watched Turanthir bear her love swiftly away from her. Maedhros' figure soon grew small in the distance. He could not bear to look back.

"I know," whispered Tinuthiel as she watched him go. "Take care, my love."

They never saw each other again.

_**A/N:** And that's it! The End. Of Part I, that is. This has basically been all exposition Oo Eeeeeew...I'll get Part II up as fast as I can! Its going to be a separate story, so look for it in my profile. Thanks for reading! Hope you liked it._


	6. A Message From the Author

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

As you know the previous chapter was the end of Part I. But I have good news! The first chapter of Part II is up! I am working on chapter too. You can get toPart IIthrough my profile. Thanks SO much for all the encouraging reviews! The more nice ones I get the more I feel like writing XD So keep 'em coming! I love all my reviewers. (My NICE ones, thank you very much .)

Yours,  
Amaurea


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